


Interlude: 1969

by Not_You



Series: A Nest Of Snakes [8]
Category: Metal Gear
Genre: Alternate Universe - Everyone Lives/Nobody Dies, Asexual Character, Boys Kissing, Domestic Fluff, F/M, Family Feels, Gen, Kissing, M/M, Men Crying, Nestverse, Queerplatonic Relationships, We Can Have Nice Things, adam has questions, it's a russian love-taunt, lovers in a dangerous time, the fury and the sorrow love each other deeply but fury is only flamesexual, the sorrow just has a lot of feelings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-31
Updated: 2020-12-31
Packaged: 2021-03-11 04:00:36
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,153
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28448826
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Not_You/pseuds/Not_You
Summary: In 1969, Uncle Ocelot was definitely old enough to have some questions about Grandpa kissing Great-Uncle Fury so much.
Relationships: The Boss/The Sorrow (Metal Gear), The Fury & The Sorrow (Metal Gear)
Series: A Nest Of Snakes [8]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/903765
Comments: 26
Kudos: 19





	Interlude: 1969

Sorrow is fond of goats, and spends a lot of time by their pen because it reminds him of his childhood back on the collective farm, in those peaceful days before the State had logged his official usefulness. Now he’s watching the sunset, and the goats are gnawing on some things and climbing on others, as is their wont, and everything is very peaceful. He’s idly wondering what will come up first, an unquiet spirit or his son, and then he hears Adam walking up behind him. The boy is very good, moving almost silently, but without so much tense effort that the silence is noticeable. Someone who wasn’t a trained stealth operative wouldn’t even know he was there.

“Good evening, Adamska,” Sorrow says, and Adam chuckles.

“How long have you known I was coming?”

“Only about fifteen seconds, son, you’re improving,” he says, and Adam closes the distance and slides up beside him, tucking himself under Sorrow’s arm the way he still does sometimes, even if he’s going to be too old for it any minute, now.

“Good.” Adam can be a very circuitous little creature, but with Sorrow he is often quite direct, forging boldly ahead just like his mother. Now he just ruminates in silence for a long moment, and then says, “Papa, can I ask you something?”

“Always,” Sorrow tells him, still watching the sunset. It’s a particularly good one, with blazing red-pink streaks and a touch of delicate green.

“...Why do you kiss Fury sometimes?”

Sorrow has been waiting for this question. He kisses all of his fellow Cobras, to show affection, but he knew that Adam would find out about the long, slow, sweet kisses on the mouth, that he only shares with his wife and with the Fury. It hasn’t exactly been a secret, just something private.

“I kiss him because I love him,” Sorrow says, and Adam rolls his eyes.

“You love everyone, Papa, I mean that part that’s _different_.”

“Or the American word, what is it, queer?”

“Yeah, Papa, that’s the American word for it.”

“It is not really queer _or_ not-queer, Adamska,” Sorrow says, because it isn’t. Unlike a lot of children his age, Adam has the patience to just wait for him to go on, and Sorrow appreciates it. “I love all of your uncles very much, but the way I love the Fury is closer to the way I love your mother.”

“You never go to bed together, though.” It’s not a question at all; Adam would have been an extremely observant child even without his unique upbringing. He has his mother’s sharp eyes, and heartbreakingly early espionage training to back it up.

“We do in the most literal sense, sometimes,” Sorrow says. Adam nods. “Your uncle has never really liked sex with anyone, Adamska, even before he got set on fire. He does like hugging and kissing, though, and he likes me.” Adam cocks his head like a kitten, absorbing this knowledge as readily as anything else that crosses his path.

“I see what you mean about queer and not-queer,” he says, as the sky deepens to violet. “...Why do you think Uncle Fury likes you?”

“He says it is because I am gentle,” Sorrow says, and turns back toward the house, the arm around his son naturally bringing Adam with him. “And quiet, and that I understand. He values all these things.” The winter stars are coming out, and they’ll be late for dinner if they stay any longer. His Joy is not a gifted cook, but love is nearly as good a sauce as hunger, and her chicken pie doesn’t even really need it.

“...Why do you think Mama likes you?” Adam asks, in the tones of a boy just getting old enough to realize why this kind of thing is so important to adults.

“I think her reasons are similar,” Sorrow says. “When I was younger I hesitated to ask for fear she might reconsider, and now I don’t really feel the need to. She does like me, and that is enough.”

Adam nods, and they walk in silence, through fields and past outbuildings, stars getting thicker in the sky until Adam speaks again, serious expression just visible in the low, purple light. “What do you like about Mama?”

“Ask the moon why it loves the sun,” Sorrow says, and Adam gags theatrically.

“Honestly, Papa!”

Sorrow just laughs, and lets Adam lead the way into the house, perfumed with Joy’s efforts in the kitchen. Adam’s sneakers slip off quickly, and he patters into the kitchen to greet his mother. As Sorrow slowly pulls off his boots, he can hear her admonitions to Adam to wash up and help his uncle Fury set the table, and he smiles, feeling the familiar clutch at his heart to have a family and a real home, and of course his eyes fill with tears. At least everyone here knows him, so when he comes into the kitchen wiping his eyes on his sleeve, they’re only a little concerned.

“All right, koshka?” Fury asks, looking up from placing the last fork.

“Yes,” Sorrow says, “just grateful.”

“Papa’s just having a lot of feelings again,” Adam says, taking his seat.

“Your papa always has a lot of feelings,” Fury says. “Most people do. He is simply wise enough to own them.” He walks over and puts his arms around Sorrow from behind. Sorrow leans back into it, smiling through his tears.

“After all, someone around here has to be,” Joy says, stepping away from the stove to kiss Sorrow in greeting, pressing him between her strength and the Fury’s, exactly where he belongs. He can feel Adam’s eyes on them, and knows that his son is carefully filing away every last nuance of this interaction. Sorrow’s heart aches with how glad he is to have his clever boy here with them; a loving family in a real home, and plenty of chicken pie for everyone, even all six feet and seven inches of the Pain, who comes bounding in like Sorrow’s thoughts have summoned him.

“Evening, all!” he calls, completely used to what he calls the Sorrow Sandwich. He’s too polite to shove them all aside to make use of the kitchen sink, and so just pauses in the doorway to let them know that the Fear is on his way, pushing the End’s wheelchair, before making his way down the hall to wash his hands in the bathroom. 

A few of the swarm hover around him, their quiet buzzing just part of the domestic noises around here, and two of them stay when the rest follow their queen, to supervise Adam as he makes up the wide plate of sugar water that takes up the eighth place at the table. Plenty of food for everyone includes the Pain’s wasps, and the thought is enough to make Sorrow start crying all over again.


End file.
